


Honeysuckle

by Kangoo



Series: April Bouquet [14]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Courtship, Cultural Differences, Gift Giving as a Show of Affection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23641579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangoo/pseuds/Kangoo
Summary: Sam is a giver, and Mithrax is confusing
Relationships: Male Guardian/Mithrax (Destiny)
Series: April Bouquet [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685779
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	Honeysuckle

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote all of this. so late at night. i'm so tired.
> 
> also idk how to write mithrax' speech lmao
> 
> theme: generous

Mithrax keeps giving him things, and Sam doesn’t know what to think about it.

See, Sam is a giver.

He hasn’t always been kind. He hasn’t always been _good_. But it’s always been easier for him to give things away than to accept them. Training kinderguardians was as easy as breathing to him, once he learned enough about himself to realize it. Feeding them, giving them their first gun and teaching them how to use it. Giving them gifts and advice and then letting them go.

When people try to do the same to him he doesn’t know how to react. Especially in the case of advice. Guess you really can’t teach an old dog new tricks because Sam really doesn’t like people putting their nose in his business, telling him what he should do. Sometimes they’re right about it, too — more often in Devrim’s case than in others, the man is a wise soul — and it’s even more infuriating then. Gifts are a little easier, but only just.

That’s why he’s so… out of sort, when Mithrax gives him anything.

It’s odd enough being on friendly terms with a Fallen — Eliksni, he berates himself, because he’s learned that much from their partnership. He doesn’t know what’s cultural and what’s just Mithrax being himself. You don’t go against your House and people to ally with the Guardians unless you’re a little bit weird for an Eliksni, is what he means.

But when the Eliksni starts giving you _things?_ That’s plain bizarre.

It starts small enough. Ammo slipped in his hands when he’s uselessly searching for some in his pockets. Arrows Mithrax gathered from Sam’s targets, and then a few he’s taken to keeping on his person since they patrol together so often. A gun, every so often, such as a Cabal rifle he knows Sam has been meaning to show his trainees.

Small things. The kind that’s easy to overlook when you’re in the field together. The kind Sam himself has given back to Mithrax — a canister of ether when his own gets pierced by a stray bullet, a sidearm when his shrapnel launcher runs out of ammunition. Not even gifts, not really, just… he doesn’t know what they are, he just knows they’re _gifts_.

(Are they?)

But Mithrax can never leave anything well enough alone.

One night they’re standing watch for a shipment of supplies meant for the Farm, and it’s cold — fall is setting in, leaves turning orange and red, and the chill took him by surprise. He didn’t pack warm enough clothes, which is a common enough occurrence that he squares his shoulders, shoves his hands under his armpits and walks it off. There’s a sound — a quiet shuffle, like cloak brushing on armor, and before he can turn around to greet Mithrax as their patrol routes cross there’s heavy fur mantle dropping over his shoulders.

“Keep warm,” he says, voice low in the night. “Or teeth chattering brings Cabal here.”

Sam’s hand lets go of the fur he was about to hand back to Mithrax and drop to his side. It’s odd to see him without the added bulk of it, though he’s still tall enough it doesn’t matter much. He doesn’t need to be twice as large when Sam already needs to crane his head up to look him in the eyes.

It’s comfortable enough he forgets to give it back come morning. He keeps the fur. Only until the next time they see each other, he thinks, but the next time Mithrax has somehow found more fur to adorn his cloak, so he doesn’t see the point in giving it back.

He keeps the fur. Cuts it apart and puts it on a few cloaks that could use the insulation, and sews the lion’s share of it on his coat. It keeps him warm, and the dusty-cold smell of Eliksni armor and ether is… oddly comforting, on the nights he keeps watch on his own.

Some days Sam finds himself handing Mithrax things on instinct. He breaks off a piece of bread and gives it to him before he realizes he’s never actually seen any Eliksni eat, let alone bread. But Mithrax takes it… gingerly, but not like it’s going to explode in his face, and it’s a good enough sign that next Sam tears a piece of jerky in two and gives Mithrax the bigger half, unthinkingly.

Sharing food with the people he’s working with his baseline Sam behavior and it still somehow surprises him that he does it with Mithrax, too. Even more surprising is when the Eliksni actually takes off his mask carefully. He eats what Sam handed him in a few bites before putting his mask back on, as if nothing had happened.

Sam isn’t sure what happened, but it feels important. He just can’t put his finger on it.

(It feels important the same way it does when he goes to sleep with his back to Mithrax, knowing the Eliksni won’t do anything to him. It feels a little bit like trust.)

Once Mithrax brings him a whole deer.

They’re not _rare_. Light knows an apocalypse wouldn’t be enough to wipe the entire population of deer on the planet. But they’ve become fearful of humans in the centuries since the Collapse, and hunting now means walking miles into the wilderness, where there’s still game to be found. Sam rarely bothers. The Farm, true to its name, keeps enough animals to keep them well supplied in protein. Chickens, mostly for their eggs, a few sheep. The City provides them with dried meat, among other things, in monthly supply shipments.

Point is: they’re not lacking anything. There’s no need to go hunting for venison.

Still, there’s Mithrax on his front step. He has a full-grown deer thrown over his shoulders, its great antlered head resting limp against the blood-stained fur of his cloak.

“Hi,” Sam says, then stops. He is at a loss for words and for what to do. Mithrax leans slightly into his space, bringing with him the smell of the hunt — blood and ozone. He must have killed it with one of his shock blades. “Do you expect me to cook that?”

Mithrax shrugs, the movement easy despite the heavy weight of the deer bearing down on him. It’s an oddly human gesture of him to do. “You like, yes?”

“I-” Yeah. He does. He’s rarely had so much meat all at once — he’s curious how much of it he can cook before the kids get bored of it. He’ll probably run out of deer before that happens. “I’m not skinning that in my kitchen though. Let’s go out back. And if you want a taste of it, you better help me clean it first.”

Mithrax makes a sound low in his throat, something halfway between a purr and a pleased rumble that ends in the quieter chirping Eliksni use between each other. Sam doesn’t have a good enough grasp of the language to translate, but if Mithrax isn’t running off with his kill then it must mean something good.

He does help clean the deer and cut it apart in manageable parcels of meat. Afterwards he licks his hands clean, and the sight of it makes Sam’s heart flutter in his chest. He doesn’t think about _why_ , not even when Mithrax shows a flash of teeth and his heart misses a beat.

Finally, Mithrax gifts him his banner.

Well. No. Not quite. First Sam gets attacked by a band of roaming Eliksni. It happens often and he reacts quickly, though he tries to avoid lethal hits. They bear the colors of a house allied to Mithrax’s, but he knows some of them see the unofficial nature of their alliance with the Guardians as a good reason to keep attacking human settlements. Doesn’t mean he should make things more difficult for them by killing some of their members.

It gets difficult after a while. He’s only a man, a mortal one at that, and that’s a lot of dregs to keep alive as well as himself, especially since they’re dead set on killing _him_. There’s only so much he can dodge.

A shock dagger grazes his side. He hisses in pain and jumps out of the way, reaches for his quiver and finds it empty. The arrows are scattered across the landscape, used as distraction for the most part.

Shit.

Another blade hits him, this time just under his ribs. The cut’s deep. Blood gushes from the wound and he stumbles back, drops his bow to better apply pressure. He needs to put an end to this fight, and _soon_. Too bad for the peaceful solution but they’re clearly not giving up, and he’s not dying for House alliances.

He’s reaching for his assault rifle when he hears a _screech._ Something bowls over two of the dregs, arc energy flashing—

It’s Mithrax, he realizes. He’d recognize him anywhere, even in the midst of a battle and dizzy with blood loss. He can’t help but laugh, too relieved to wonder how he even found them.

The Eliskni are sent running by the Kell, sounding properly chastised — or terrified, hard to tell — as they carry their wounded comrades away. Sam allows himself a relieved sigh before he kneels slowly in the dirt to take a look at his injury. He gingerly takes his hand away from the cut and finds it drenched in red. His fingers shake as he pushes his coat back, scrambling to find his med kit between the folds and fabric and numerous equipment pouches. He can’t quite get it open once he’s found it, and he lets out a sound of frustration.

Hands push his aside. He glances up to find Mithrax kneeling in front of him, glowing eyes half-lidded in worry-attention-annoyance. He’s so tall compared to Sam he can’t see anything past his body. It allows a sense of… security, of privacy, as Mithrax prods his bleeding side with careful fingers and makes small irritated sounds. Sam leans into the touch, closing his eyes. The Eliksni unrolls a roll of bandages and starts to wrap it around Sam’s middle without needing to be told. This isn’t the first time Sam has to deal with an injury on the fly, though usually he’s the one doing his own healthcare.

He feels a sharp tug as Mithrax tears the long strip of bandage off and ties it securely. He opens his eyes.

“Help me up?”

His voice sounds weak, but he’ll be fine to walk back to the church. He’s had worse and walked it off before.

Mithrax doesn’t share his opinion. He has a second to worry about his silence before two strong arms heave him off the ground in something he wishes didn’t look so much like a bridal carry. With his secondary arms Mithrax grabs both their weapons, and then starts walking. Sam protests, but it’s weak, and he’s definitely being ignored.

Eventually Mithrax’s gait and the warmth of his body lulls him into a dazed half-sleep, where he clings to consciousness in fear of what might happen if he passes out. Blood loss is no joke.

He must pass out at some point anyway. He remembers Devrim’s voice, distantly, and then nothing until he wakes up fully hours later. His wound has been properly dressed and he’s tucked in bed, with his coat thrown over the sheets. The fur tickles his nose.

There’s a long strip of crimson fabric looped around his wrist. He blinks until his vision clears and peers at the motif on it. It’s the House of Light’s symbol, the same all Eliksni of the House wear.

Sam clutches it in his fist as he goes to sleep.

When he wakes up — when he’s cleared for field work again, by himself and then by the only other doctor in the Farm, who doesn’t trust him not to be a workaholic, he ties the banner around his belt. It hangs to the side, a little like how Mithrax wears it, in full view of anyone who might try to attack him.

He hopes it’ll be enough to avoid further incidents like this one. And he thinks, privately, that it was very thoughtful of Mithrax to give him this. He wonders how he could ask for the same for his kinderguardians, to keep them safe in Eliksni territory while they might be training on their own.

Devrim tells him he’s an idiot.

“You don’t think he’ll agree?”

“Of course he will,” Devrim says, not bothering to look away from his sniper scope to properly roll his eyes at Sam. He’s only been cleared for light duty, which means a lot of keeping Devrim company and handing off bounties to Guardians coming around the church. “But that’s not the _point_.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s not a matter of convenience, that’s for sure. Fallen carried you to the Farm in his arms and refused to let go until he was sure you were in capable hands. He _cares_.”

Sam sighs, rubbing his neck. Of course Mithrax cares. They’re friends. He tells Devrim as much.

“To me it looks a lot like he’s marking you as his own,” Devrim replies, briefly looking away from his scope to nod towards the banner hanging off Sam’s belt. “Make of that what you will.”

There is silence after that. Devrim focuses on sniping the Cabal edging closer to the church, and Sam…

Sam thinks about it.

“So. The banner. What’s it for, anyway?”

Mithrax tilts his head to the side, looking at Sam curiously. “Is warning,” he replies, voice low and scratchy. Sam thinks, not for the first time, that he should learn his language, maybe make communication a little easier on his end. He doesn’t know how complex it is, but he’s sure he can do it. “Says you belong to my House.”

Devrim, as usual, was right. Instead of the unease he expected, Sam feels his chest fill with warmth. “Is that to keep the Eliksni off my back? I appreciate it.”

Mithrax shakes his head slight, which he’s come to expect. His pronunciation of Eliksni words always has that effect, even the word Eliksni itself which Sam thinks he’s had a decent training in pronouncing. Human mouths just aren’t made for those sounds. He lays a hand on Sam’s shoulder, over the borrowed (gifted) fur.

“This says you are strong. Like Captain or Kell. Dangerous. Hard to kill.” His hand drifts lower, down his side to the banner. Sam represses a shiver and tells himself it’s his freshly scarred injury being sensitive and nothing more. “This says you belong to House of Light. Not worth it if trying to be allies, but target if enemies.”

“I have no problem shooting down enemy Eliksni,” he replies, stubbornly keeping with the word, mispronounced or not.

There’s a weird clicking sound he’s come to associate with Mihtrax laughing. “I know.” He doesn’t take his hand back. Sam resists the urge to clear his throat. Eventually, Mithrax continues, “Missing something.”

“What?”

“Sign that you are mine. Need to think about it. Maybe a good blade. Useful, and not something given lightly. That will do.”

He hums thoughtfully, entirely unaware of what his words are doing to Sam. He turns his blushing face away.

_Sign that you are mine._

Sam thinks about the banner — the fur — the _deer,_ and finds a whole new cultural significance to them all of a sudden.

He doesn’t think he minds.

**Author's Note:**

> come haunt me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/2Fast2Kangoo) or [tumblr](https://youngster-monster.tumblr.com/)


End file.
